


Love, Lust, and Anger Simultaneously

by trahelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AKA Ron doesn't get it, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Established Relationship, Happy together, Is there a plot?, M/M, Not everyone has to understand, POV Alternating, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 19:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16046804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trahelle/pseuds/trahelle
Summary: "There were a few things of which Ron had been unwaveringly certain. Firstly, that Harry Potter was not, in fact, sharing a studio flat with Malfoy as he claimed. Secondly, that said Harry Potter was playing an elaborate and rather stupid prank on him. And lastly, that Harry Potter had been lying when he said he actually fancied Malfoy."However, the operative words were 'had been.' Ron had been certain of all those things. Until now."





	Love, Lust, and Anger Simultaneously

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The time when Harry and Malfoy are surprisingly domestic; And Ron nearly cannot process that](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/418835) by slytherinvalues. 



> Based on a prompt: "The time when Harry and Malfoy are surprisingly domestic; And Ron nearly cannot process that" and brief mention of the character Agnes from @firethesound's fic, "The Light More Beautiful."

There were a few things of which Ron had been unwaveringly certain. Firstly, that Harry Potter was not, in fact, sharing a studio flat with Malfoy as he claimed. Secondly, that said Harry Potter was playing an elaborate and rather stupid prank on him. And lastly, that Harry Potter had been lying when he said he actually fancied Malfoy.

However, the operative words were “had been.” Ron _had been_ certain of all those things. Until now.

In retrospect, the fact that it was called the “Malfoy-Potter” residence on the Network should have been a tip-off, but to Ron, it had all logically added up to the conclusion that Harry was simply _very_ devoted to this prank. Admittedly, he’d have to be, if he was willing to get the name changed on the Network record, since it meant having to deal with Agnes, who was an absolute cow on the best of days.

The sight that greeted him when he stepped out of the Floo was enough dispel the notions he’d been holding onto and have him blinking his eyes in a vain attempt to clear away whatever mirage this was. Once, twice, thrice — nothing changed.

The first thing Ron noticed was that using the word ‘studio’ to describe this place was the real joke. Sure, it was one room, but it was the size of a small warehouse; high ceilings with thick wooden beams running across it and stark, white walls. The concrete floor was smooth and glossy, covered sporadically by islands of thick rugs that added a sense of comfort to the austere environment. The room was sparsely furnished and walls were barren except for a few, large abstract pieces of artwork — freeform, emotive depictions of the human form.

The second thing Ron took note of was the bed in the corner. It was the largest he’d ever seen, low to the ground with no bed frame save for a boxspring itself. It was covered in inviting, crisp linens, plump pillows, and a duvet with a softly checkered pattern of grays and blues. However, the truly notable thing about it were the two people attop it.

Draco Malfoy, barefoot and wearing Muggle jeans and what looked to be one of Harry’s t-shirts, reclined on a mound of pillows with his head buried in a book. More remarkable still was the fact that Harry was asleep with his head on Malfoy’s chest.

Having lived with Harry for years, Ron thought he knew more than a few things about Harry’s sleeping patterns. Things such as the fact that Harry didn’t take naps, that he disliked sleeping in other peoples’ presences if they were awake, and lastly that he hated sleeping near anyone else. But each and every one of those long-held beliefs were refuted by the sight before him.

If possible, Ron was even more surprised by seeing the telltale signs that Harry was actually sleeping well. His hands, which were usually tight fisted and pulled into his chest, were casually draped around Malfoy’s middle, only twitching occasionally. His breaths were coming and going in slow, lulling waves, instead of the erratic, shallow panting he had had most nights at Hogwarts. And, though Ron couldn’t see his face, the lack of tension in the rest of his body meant that Harry may have actually been peaceful in that moment. A word that could rarely be used to describe Harry’s sleep.

Ron looked up to find Malfoy’s eyes watching him, the expression on his face seemed as though he couldn’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. Silently, Malfoy flicked his wand and a single eyebrow rose when Ron flinched. The other followed when Ron overreacted a second time as a chair caught the back of his legs and he yelped a little as he sat. Harry stirred in his sleep.

“Quiet, Weasley — are you _trying_ to wake him?” Malfoy hissed, his voice barely audible, even though it seemed to almost echo in the cavernous space. When Ron said nothing in reply, he continued, “You know, most people have the sense to announce themselves before coming through another’s Floo.”

“I’m his best mate,” he protested a bit too loudly. Whatever was going on here, this was still Malfoy he was speaking to and he still wouldn’t believe that he and Harry were… something, regardless of what he saw in front of him.

“His best mate who’s trying to wake him, despite how difficult he should know that it is for Harry to sleep,” he said just as quietly as before, looking down at Harry fondly, with concern etched into his features, before he turned hard eyes on Ron.

“I—” Ron started to protest in response, till he saw Harry had begun to wake up in earnest this time. Malfoy looked as though he could have happily murdered Ron in that moment.

Harry had a habit of startling when he woke and people were nearby. Blinking open bleary eyes, Harry jumped in the way Ron had seen him do a hundred times before and a stupid part of him triumphed in knowing that whatever this was between his best mate and Malfoy _couldn’t_ be what it looked like if Harry reacted that way. At least he thought that until he saw that the tension in Harry’s form soften upon seeing Malfoy’s face above him and he rested his head back down onto the other’s chest instead of rushing to put on his glasses as he usually did.

“Well, fuck,” Ron breathed.

Malfoy glared at him, before turning kind eyes on Harry as he gently ran his fingers through his mop of hair untangling small pieces and kissed the top of his head, softly whispering something that sounded very much like, “ _Love, Weasley’s here to see you.”_

Harry outstretched his hand to summon his glasses, but Malfoy was already holding them for him, handing them over after Harry hoisted himself up to a seated position.

“What’re you doing here, Ron?” he asked, tiredness and confusion written across his face, as he put on the familiar, round frames.

“Uh, I thought it was just you here… I thought you were just taking the piss when you told me all that stuff before,” he said sheepishly.

“By stuff, you mean when I told you that I’m with Draco and that we live together?” he asked, though he clearly knew the answer.

“Yeah, that,” Ron said with a sweeping gesture to encompass the room and the two of them.

Instead of answering, Harry rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and got up on sleep-tired feet to make his way to the WC.

The instant the door clicked, Malfoy charmed it silent and turned on him. “Weasley,” he said, rising from the bed, which made Ron stand, too. “I’m going to assume you know that he barely sleeps and when he does, it’s a miracle. I’m sure he doesn’t mind you waking him, because he’s a good, kind person, but I do. Wake him up again and I will close that Floo off to you,” he said over his shoulder as he turned away towards the kitchen. He put the kettle on to boil. “Next time, call ahead first,” he finished forcefully before removing the silencing charm from the door mere moments before Harry exited the bathroom, looking a good deal more awake now.

“What’s up, Ron?” he asked, looking at his watch. “Why’re you here at a quarter till four on a Saturday afternoon?”

“‘Mione and I wanted to see if you’d grab dinner and drinks with us tonight.”

“Depends on who’s invited,” Harry said.

“Who do you want to be?” he asked.

Harry cocked his head to the side, as if he was wondering how thick Ron could be, before saying, “It depends on whether _both_ Draco and I are invited or just myself; even then, it depends on whether you’ll be normal.”

“Oi, what do you mean ‘normal’?” he bit back, his voice tight.

Harry indicated all of him in a sweeping gesture, “This isn’t what I’d call normal Ron, and I still don’t think you believe that this is real.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” his voice edgy, “my best friend wouldn’t be this daft.”

The look Harry gave him was clearly disappointed and gone was the sleep softened face of before. “Leave, Ron. This is our home — you don’t get to be unwelcoming in _our_ home,” he said, putting a forceful hand on Ron’s shoulder to lead him to the fireplace.

Ron shook him off in anger, “Get off me, Harry. I’m going,” he said, holding his hands up.

He heard Malfoy say, “My, what a _wonderful_ mate you’ve got there,” just as Ron threw the Floo powder in and said the name of his and Hermione’s flat.

* * * * * 

“Harry,” Draco said, turning off the kettle and pulling him close as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, “I appreciate the gesture, but you didn’t have to kick him out for me.”

“Draco,” Harry said, drawing out the last syllable in a clear mockery of Draco’s own voice as he smiled at him. “It is _our_ home and like hell will I let anyone stay that doesn’t respect _both_ of us.”

“You know,” Draco growled low, pulling Harry into his embrace and sucking at the sensitive skin of his neck, “I fucking love you sometimes.”

Harry barked a laugh, but was saved from having to decide between responding with _I can feel that_ or _Sometimes?_ when Draco grabbed him round the middle and carried him to their bed, standing him up beside it just long enough to remove Harry’s clothing before tossing him back on the soft mattress.

Fuck, Harry loved to get him like this. Draco had a hard time letting go of his strict control, but if Harry riled him up enough, he got to see it — eyes shining from love, lust, and anger simultaneously. It was for Harry and it was the most gods-damned beautiful thing he was sure he’d ever see.

When Draco started to climb on the bed fully clothed, Harry stopped him with a motion of his hand before scooting over and swinging his legs off the side. Draco was still standing and looking down at Harry through half-lidded eyes, as he reached his hands up to slowly undo Draco’s jean buttons, skimming the hard length of his cock through the thick material. Once open, Harry mouthed Draco through his pants, eliciting a hiss and causing him to impatiently turn his wand on himself to vanish his clothes completely. T-shirt, trousers, and pants all out of the way, Draco picked Harry up once more, tossing him back on the pillows before crawling in after him.

It was at times like this where Harry didn’t mind that he’d never grown much. They were both relatively small men by most’s standards. Draco was tall and lithe — strong, though not in an overt way, but he could easily carry Harry however he wished. And, though Harry was somewhat vertically challenged, his broad shoulders and natural musculature meant he could do the same right back as long as he could keep Draco’s long limbs safe along the way. It worked perfectly.

Harry couldn’t help his feral grin as Draco advanced on him, laid down beside him, and pressed their bodies together, gazing  hungrily at him for long moments before claiming his lips in deep, feverish kissing, his hard length rubbing against Harry’s hip. Locked together, tongues probing, it didn’t matter how many times they’d done this before as they reached out to feel one another like it was all new. People were always changing — they were always changing, so maybe it _was_ new after all.

Draco snaked his arm underneath Harry’s waist, rolling them over till Harry was on top of him, flush against his chest. The unyielding feel of their hard cocks pressed between one another made Harry shudder from the intensity of his desire. He rolled off Draco and knelt at his side, stopping the protest about him leaving from rising in Draco’s throat as he lapped at his cock with minute flicks of his tongue along the length.

Draco was never one to make much in the way of noise during sex, but Harry could always tell how he was feeling by the unique patterns of his breathing. Harry on the other hand loved to let Draco know just how much he enjoyed himself. Like now, when he stopped mouthing Draco’s member and sucked him in in one fluid motion, humming in the back of his throat so Draco would feel it. The sharp intake of breath was one Harry recognized of Draco’s being surprised, but fucking _loving_ it. Good.

He felt a hand on his ass and in response he both wandlessly and wordlessly summoned the lube and a condom from the bedside table without ever breaking his pacing working Draco’s cock in smooth motions. Catching the items in his outstretched hand, Harry pulled away just long enough to command, “Get me ready,” before handing them over and returning to his ministrations. He felt Draco twitch in his mouth and the sound of a murmured cleaning spell caressing him intimately, then the jar opening in the background. He turned himself towards Draco to give him better access.

The lube was slightly warm when he felt the first finger massaging his ring of muscle from the outside — Draco must have used his hands to warm it up; he knew Harry hated cold lube, though most everyone did. Still, it made his chest warm to know that Draco thought of him and his comfort; he took Draco extra deep to communicate his appreciation, moaning his approval as Draco worked his muscle deeper before slowly pushing a finger inside.

Round and round, Draco circled Harry, loosening him with practiced care. Unconsciously, he pushed himself into it, reveling in the sensation, all the while forgetting that he was still pleasing Draco.

Draco removed the finger and chuckled as he flipped Harry onto his back, saying, “I want to see you anyway. I want you to writhe for me.” And just as suddenly as it was gone, the finger was back, working the outside in a swirling motion before pushing in once more. He opened his mouth to moan, but before he could Draco captured it with his own, swallowing it down like he needed it more than air itself.

A second finger was added and Draco scissored him in fluid motions, his head bowed, sucking at Harry’s neck with such fervor that Harry knew it would bruise — and fuck if he didn’t love the idea of Draco’s mark on him. It may have been strange, but he’d always enjoyed the little reminders of what they did to and for one another.

Draco hadn’t even added a third finger yet, but now was one of the moments when Harry wanted Draco’s cock to be what stretched him open the rest of the way. But, Draco never assumed that that was what Harry wanted, which made him love the git all the more.

“If you don’t fucking get inside me in 10 seconds, I’m going to die,” Harry said dramatically, but he was writhing just like Draco wanted, his own cock leaving a leaking trail of pre-come against his stomach and he wanted more than anything to be filled up by him.

Draco smiled wickedly with a chuckle to match, but he didn’t need telling twice. In a flash, he lubed himself up, rolled on the condom, and then lubed up the outside it to ensure Harry’s comfort; moments later he appeared above Harry and lined himself up. Harry could feel him right _there_ and he grabbed Draco’s hips, pulling him inside himself past the still slightly tight the ring of muscle, taking a moment to adjust. Though he used to find it uncomfortable, the familiar burn was something Harry relished now and he pulled Draco in the rest of the way till he was seated fully inside Harry.

Draco’s face was so close to his own that they shared breath and he had a look of such admiration in his eyes, Harry didn’t know whether to cry or fuck his brains out. At the moment, he decided on latter as he whispered imploringly, “Fuck me, Draco. Hard.”

Harry loved that their time together allowed them to learn to communicate openly about what they wanted; Draco wouldn’t question him, instead just trusting him to know whatever that was at any given moment.

He growled his approval, a low hum in Harry’s ear as he set up a deliciously pounding rhythm. Draco’s cock was averagely sized, but Harry loved it; he’d always been particularly tight and Draco’s size allowed him to have any type of sex he wanted, without worrying about pain. And there was just something about it that hit all the right spots in Harry and soon he was practically screaming as Draco hit his prostate again and again.

Draco’s breath gusted over him in short bursts and Harry could hear a fraction of a moan caught in the back of his throat, as he tried to stifle it. He could feel how close they both were and wanting to tip them over the edge at the same time he grabbed Draco’s face in his hands, saying, “Let me hear you. I want to hear you when you come inside me.”

It was all they both needed as Draco came hard after three more strokes, crying out, and wanking Harry in time with his weakening thrusts. The fucking beauty of it all drew out his orgasm in waves as his come shot across his chest, smearing onto Draco as he rocked their bodies together to ride out the last of their passion.

Draco rolled off slowly from where he’d collapsed on top of him and pushed himself up onto his side to look at Harry, casting wandless cleaning spell over them both. Though it was never as strong as his usual one, it did the trick and Harry savored the intimacy of Draco's gentle magic ghosting over him.

Drawing his finger up, Draco traced the outline of Harry’s profile, gliding lightly over his forehead, nose, mouth, and chin, before leaning in and pressing a tender kiss on his temple. “Are you going to talk to the Weasel?”

“Tomorrow,” he whispered as he curled himself back up on Draco’s chest and this time they fell asleep together.

 

* * * Fin * * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr as @trahelle | This is my first fic, please be kind! :)


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